


cherry pie

by gayprentiss



Series: gay escapism jemily [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: As it should be, Cottagecore, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Jemily - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, cottagecore jemily, need i say more?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayprentiss/pseuds/gayprentiss
Summary: a self-indulgent cottagecore!jemily fic in which jj is a baker and emily is her smart literature girlfriend
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Series: gay escapism jemily [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907734
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	cherry pie

“aw, shit,” jj says, expletive falling softly from her mouth as she sinks the knife into the warm cherry pie in front of her. the pie filling hadn’t set, _yet again_. it’d been weeks of her trying to perfect the recipe. jj drops the knife onto the kitchen counter and wipes her hands of flour against her patterned apron. the cherry bleeds from the knife against the countertop, and jj sighs. she takes a second, gathers herself ( _who cares if the filling’s not set as long as it tastes good?_ ), then picks up the knife again. 

take two. jennifer holds the floral-printed plate closely to the the edge of the pie so as to lose as little as possible when transferring the dessert between dishes. with adeptness only seen in the most skilled of bakers, she cuts a perfect slice of pie and slides it onto the plate. the pastry falls flat, cherries spilling to the side. i _t’s too liquidy,_ she thinks. _it’s made the lower crust soggy_. 

but despite the perceived failure of the endeavor, jj is filled with an overwhelming sense of calm. the rain outside falls to the ground with a patter softened by the trees. the tiny house smells distinctly of baked goods, and the fireplace crackling in the front room fills the cottage with a comfortable envelope of heat. jj lowers the lights in the kitchen, promising herself to clean up her pots and pans and measuring tools later, and hangs her apron in its designated spot against the tiny, rusting hook emily had haphazardly nailed into the wall the night they’d moved in. 

she puts a fork on the plate. there’s a pause; she reconsiders. she puts a spoon onto the plate, then floats down the hallway, dessert in hand. “emily,” she coos, using her elbow to prop open the door to their shared bedroom.

jj expects emily to be hunched over at her desk, deep in thought, working on a file. instead, her wife is curled up in a cozy chair against the window, watching the rain fall. emily’s turned out the lights in the room and opted to open the curtain instead, the graying natural light illuminating the high points of her features. the loose knit of her sweater envelops her, falling over her wrists and covering her hands. she startles at jj’s presence, jumping just enough to jostle the forgotten, dog-eared book from her lap. _brontë,_ jj notes. 

emily turns from the storm outside to see jj, bright eyed and grinning, a plate of an unspecified dessert in her hand. “pie,” jj says simply, watching emily try and decipher the pile of red mush in front of her. 

“no vanilla ice cream?” emily asks with a small smile, gesturing for jj to move out of the doorway and towards her. 

jj perches on the arm of the chair, passing the plate to emily. “be grateful,” she scolds, but her tone is jovial. she lays her head against emily’s, letting the sound of emily’s fork scraping her plate fill the room in lieu of silence. 

“it’s good, bug,” emily says affectionately. jj makes a noise of disagreement, and emily turns to her.

“well don’t _lie,_ ” jj simpers. 

emily takes another bite, nodding. “it could be less liquidy.” 

jj smiles, all teeth, and takes the plate from her wife, setting it on the tiny end table next to them. she swiftly repositions herself from the arm of the chair into emily’s lap, wrapping all of her limbs around the raven haired woman with care. emily’s hand cups the back of jj’s head on instinct, dull nails scratching her scalp tenderly. jj tucks into the crook of emily’s neck and they fit like puzzle pieces. 

“‘if he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as i could in a day,’” emily recites in a low tone. 

“brontë,” jj murmurs in response. 

in that moment; rain falling, cherry filling oozing, and wuthering heights floating in the air; jj cares less about a pie recipe than she ever has before. she focuses on the wind whipping the trees, and promptly falls asleep. 


End file.
